My Bach [Holiday House] is warm, and inviting.
When you walk through the front gate, you can see and smell the freshly cut grass, see the old brick barbecue being stoked with yellowed newspapers, and see our red and yellow boat waiting anxiously for its next voyage. From our Bach, you can hear the song of the sea, calling you to join it on the sand.

As you walk down the old main road towards the beach, the hungry hot tar sticks relentlessly to your feet, but that does not deter you. You can hear the faint laughter of children, and the, “clip clop” behind you of a horse heading for the water. The crashing of the waves gets ever closer.

You get to the sandy beach track. As you walk, you can feel the friendly Lupins brush at your sides. You hear them crackling and popping in the heat, giving off their sweet smell.
Finally, you see the rough white peaks of the crashing waves, and know that your journey is complete.

You run into the water like a parched animal, as the sand is too hot to linger on. Once in, however, the icy water makes your whole body freeze. But, slowly, it soothes you. You dive under, and the waves carry you with the grace of a watery Tango.

As you realise it is now mid afternoon, you climb begrudgingly out of the water onto the now pleasantly warm sand. You close your eyes contentedly, and listen to the waves. You feel as though you could lie there for an eternity.

However, you finally decide to head back to the road, tired and hungry at the end of your day. You can smell the savoury scent of the barbecue, calling you back home, but the sea sings its sweet tune all summer long, promising more dances lay ahead.